


(Harry Potter/Merlin) Travels and Travails for kathy_williams

by sprl1199



Category: Merlin - Fandom, rating: g/pg/pg13
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-13
Updated: 2010-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprl1199/pseuds/sprl1199
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xover Harry Potter (though predominantly about Arthur and Merlin).  After Arthur and Merlin are taken from the forest by what appears to be a tunnel of magical origins and deposited in a different forest, several important conversations are had. A love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Harry Potter/Merlin) Travels and Travails for kathy_williams

**Author's Note:**

> Written for xover_exchange 2010 for kathy_williams. Arthur/Merlin first-time slash.

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[exchange: fall10](http://community.livejournal.com/xover_exchange/tag/exchange%3A%20fall10), [fandom: harry potter](http://community.livejournal.com/xover_exchange/tag/fandom%3A%20harry%20potter), [fandom: merlin](http://community.livejournal.com/xover_exchange/tag/fandom%3A%20merlin), [rating: g/pg/pg13](http://community.livejournal.com/xover_exchange/tag/rating%3A%20g%2Fpg%2Fpg13)  
  
---|---  
  
_**(Harry Potter/Merlin) Travels and Travails for[](http://kathy-williams.livejournal.com/profile)[ **kathy_williams**](http://kathy-williams.livejournal.com/)**_  
 **Title** : Travels and Travails  
 **Author** : [](http://sprl1199.livejournal.com/profile)[**sprl1199**](http://sprl1199.livejournal.com/)  
 **Fandoms** : Harry Potter/Merlin  
 **Characters** Merlin, Arthur; Harry, Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, Ginny  
 **Pairings** : Arthur/Merlin  
 **Rating** : PG-13  
 **Wordcount** : 9,292  
 **Spoilers** : Set during Season 1 of Merlin and Book 6 of Harry Potter (Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince)  
 **Warnings** : Slightly cracktastic. Includes an extremely sappy nonexplicit implication-of-physical-relations scene and some deus ex machina.  
 **Disclaimer** : Merlin and Harry Potter belong to their respective creators. This fic was written entirely for fun and not for profit.  
 **A/N** : It's been awhile since I've read the Harry Potter series, so if something seems awry or doesn't fit in perfectly with continuity, I apologize.

**

It wasn’t actually a beautiful day, though he wouldn’t have described it as ‘terrible,’ either. There had been a market recently: hordes of people traveling to and then from the city, all with livestock and wagons which had kicked the dust up on the main road. The air had been irritatingly still for several days, and the result was a light haze that had seemed to settle over the entire kingdom.

When he had remarked on this to Gaius, the old man had given him a despairing look and turned back to his book, muttering all the while about Merlin’s complete failure to absorb any of his lessons on geography. Merlin hadn’t been offended, since it was true that he didn’t make more than a token effort to read the texts on lands and borders that Gaius tried to ply him with. He always _meant_ to study them more closely, of course, but between the chores Arthur assigned him, the chores _Gaius_ assigned him, his magical practice, and lovely, lovely sleep (which he never got quite enough of, no matter what Gaius thought), there was just never any time to spare.

Besides, he was fairly certain Gaius wasn’t able to prove that the haze _didn’t_ envelop all of Camelot, so he felt that at best the discussion had ended in a draw.

When Arthur had ordered him to prepare for a day of hunting in the forest, Merlin hadn’t protested. It would have done no good, and, anyway, he always coveted those hours alone with Arthur, despite the fact that he typically ended the day sore and blistered from lugging about various animal carcasses. Though at the time, he had made a comment on the unpleasantness of spending hours breathing in the dust that was floating about in the still air. Wouldn’t it make sense to wait until a truly pleasant day to better enjoy the forest, he had questioned. Questioned, but not argued.

And now, as Arthur pushed him away yet again from the eerie, inky-black area on the forest floor that seemed intent on swallowing the both of them (and consequently interrupted the spell that Merlin was attempting to covertly cast), Merlin knew that he had been completely and utterly wrong twice so far that morning:

Firstly, obviously he should have taken the broken water jug that morning as the portent that Cook said it was and insisted on staying in the castle for the day (though, to be fair, he had broken many different pieces of crockery, and it simply didn’t seem feasible that every shattered plate at his hand foretold his doom).

And secondly, it was an absolutely gorgeous day. Stunning, really. He would happily breathe in the road dust and rejoice in the stagnant air and traveling masses of small, biting gnats if it meant _not_ being sucked into a strange and dangerous looking hole that moved across the ground when it was patently supposed to remain fixed in place.

As he fell, he saw the grasping branches of the trees far overhead. He had always found this part of the forest sinister, yet the trees looked positively cheerful when compared the darkness of the hole he and Arthur were being pulled into.

Then the edges of the hole climbed up over his head, and he saw no more.

When he came to, it was with the horrifying and all-consuming knowledge that he must surely have been pulled into a demon’s layer. He had never felt as though he were all that brave--not compared to certain princes who to all intents and purposes appear to have a death wish at any rate--, but in his mind, convincing himself to open his eyes was one of the greatest feats of heroism ever attempted.

Readying his magic (and it always seemed to respond better when he was struck dumb with terror, which was just patently unfair), he opened his eyes…

And saw tree branches: still draped in autumnal colors and dappled with sunlight. A cold but gentle breeze sent a few of the golden leaves stirring gently to float down to the ground, and somewhere off in the distance, a bird chirped merrily.

He blinked, but the image didn’t change. There was a soft sound off to the side, and--gingerly turning his head--he spotted Arthur in a low crouch over to his left, sword held at the ready.

“Well,” Merlin said in relief as he lay stretched out on the blanket of dried leaves and rather lovely winter grasses, “that could have been much worse.”

He took note of a small green and gold colored beetle crawling lazily over his hand. Considering the denizens of a dark pit he was expecting to wake to, it was the most beautiful and welcome creature he had ever cast eyes on. “Whatever that was, it seemed happy to leave us alone beyond scaring the life half out of us.”

Arthur shot him an irritated look. “Speak for yourself, Merlin. I wasn’t scared, though you were certainly shrieking enough for the both of us.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest that a startled yelp when the ground disappeared out from underneath a person did not equate to a ‘shriek‘, but the prince cut him off. “Besides,” he said, continuing to scan their surroundings with battle readiness. “It didn’t leave us alone. I don‘t know where it has brought us or what it hoped to accomplish, but I‘m not taking it for granted that it means us well.”

Merlin wondered if the strange hole-creature (for lack of a better term) had affected Arthur more than it appeared from simply looking at him.

“Err, but Sire. We haven’t gone anywhere. We’re still in the forest.”

The look Arthur shot him now was blatantly incredulous. Merlin would have recoiled, but, as he was still lying flat on his back, the maneuver would have been difficult.

“This isn’t the same forest,” Arthur said in a low, intense voice, eyes still assessing their immediate area for threats.

“How can you possibly tell that?” Merlin asked in surprise.

Arthur rolled his eyes (which strangely enough didn‘t affect his aura of dramatic wariness), voice sardonic. “Because I’m not an idiot. Honestly, however did you survive your childhood? I thought all peasants had at least _some_ knowledge of forests.”

Anything Merlin would have replied was stifled when the bird chirped again, and Arthur reacted by swinging around abruptly, sword in attack position.

“I believe that’s a sparrow,” Merlin said helpfully.

The prince narrowed his eyes at him before straightening and sheathing his sword. Striding over to Merlin, he reached down a hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Let’s get on then,” the prince said. “Knowing you, trouble will eventually find us, and I’d much rather be mobile when it does.”

“I am _not_ the only one in this relationship that attracts trouble,” Merlin said with dignity. “If anything, you get into it just as often as I do.”

Arthur paused for a moment, a strange look in his eye. Then he smirked (somewhat wickedly). “Perhaps. But I’m the one in this _relationship_ with the sword, so you would do well to keep close.”

With that he strode off confidently (though there was absolutely no way he could have any idea of where he was going) on a small, nearly invisible path through the trees. Merlin hurried after him, trying to discipline his blush and telling himself repeatedly that Arthur hadn’t meant that to be as dirty as it had sounded.

**

They traveled on for some time without seeing anything more threatening than a squirrel, and Merlin was beginning to get rather tired. It had been a long day _before_ the hole-creature had attacked, after all, and the various instances of rolling and dodging had almost tuckered him out completely. Plus, there was a rock that had worked itself into his shoe that he had just not been able to dislodge despite his bests attempts.

He stopped.

Arthur went only a few metres more before swinging around and glaring. “We are not stopping, Merlin. We don’t know where we are, and until we discover where we have been taken and to what ends, we are in danger.” He said the last punctuating every word, as though Merlin had forgotten the hole-creature that had swallowed them only a little while before.

“We don’t know where we’re going,” Merlin pointed out, “so it’s possible we may be heading _into_ danger instead of out of it.”

“That is a stupid and simple-minded assessment, not that I would have expected otherwise from you,” Arthur said with stiff dignity. Not appreciating the application of both ‘stupid’ _and_ simple-minded to himself in a single sentence, Merlin glared.

“The _monster_ brought us here against our will. Ergo, _here_ is not any place we are interested in staying. Unless you imagine that that creature only captured us to bring us to an unfamiliar forest for a bit of harmless exploration?”

“There’s nothing here!” Merlin yelled, gesturing wildly to the forest around them. “I don’t know what sort of dangerous creature you expect to jump out at us, but beyond sparrows, a few squirrels, and something that I think may have been a fawn, we are the only ones here!”

“Oh, hullo!” a voice said from just beyond the trees.

Merlin jumped and shouted while Arthur spun rapidly in the direction the hail had come from, drawing his sword in a single gracefully deadly movement.

There were two young women standing just through the trees, both dressed in long black robes with red and gold scarves wound about their necks. One looked to be about sixteen while the other was younger, and they were staring at Arthur in obvious surprise and not a little fear.

Arthur quickly resheathed his sword.

“Don’t tell them who we are,” he hissed in Merlin’s ear before turning and smiling broadly.

“Hello,” he called cheerily. “I do apologize for bothering you, but my friend and I are a bit lost. Could you point us in the direction of the nearest village?”

The smaller of the girls, a delicate redhead with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, pointed mutely down the road in the direction they had obviously been walking.

“Why do you have a sword?” she asked, wide eyed. “Are you putting on a show in Hogsmeade?”

“Yes,” Merlin jumped in. “That’s it exactly. We’re entertainers. On our way to…entertain. With a weapons demonstration.” Beside him, Arthur shot him a withering glare.

Far from being reassured, the other girl--a brunette--looked at them both suspiciously.

“I haven’t heard of any shows in Hogsmeade,” she said skeptically.

“By the grace of God, you will,” Arthur said, smiling winningly. “My friend and I hope to make our fortunes, and so we took to the road to showcase our skills for the citizens of this land.”

The girls stared at him blankly at this explanation, and he clearly felt more charm was in order.

He moved closer to them and sank to a knee in front of the brunette, gracefully grabbing her hand and bestowing a kiss upon it. She blushed immediately.

“And what is your name, Lady?” Arthur asked.

“Hermione Granger,” the girl replied, stuttering only slightly. Behind her, the other girl giggled. “And this is Ginny Weasley.”

“It is lovely to meet you, Lady Hermione, Lady Ginny. I am Lancelot,” Arthur said, clearly choosing an alias at random (and looking rather adorably pleased at his subterfuge).

The girls’ eyes widened, and they simultaneously blushed deeply. “Oh?” Ginny squeaked.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice their reaction. “And that’s Gwen,” he said, gesturing dismissively toward Merlin.

“He’s kidding,” Merlin jumped in. “I’m, err, Gaius. It’s nice to meet you.”

The girls hardly spared him a glance, but, as that was the typical response from women of all ages when Arthur was within eyesight, he was not offended.

“We’re on our way to Hogsmeade now,” Ginny said. “Would you like to walk with us?”

Given how suspicious they had been only two minutes before, a part of Merlin wanted to roll his eyes at the about face (the other part was fully aware of how immediately people felt safe around Arthur and wondered why they had been suspicious at all).

Arthur smiled gallantly. “It would be our pleasure to escort you along the road. The forest can be a dangerous place, after all.” He looked to Merlin, eyes mildly triumphant as the two young ladies took his arms. “Come, Gaius,” he said, taking off in the same direction the girls had been walking before meeting them.

Merlin sighed and followed.

**

Hogsmeade was a strange village, at once both alien and familiar. The small cottages that sheltered what were apparently various shops were reminiscent of those throughout Camelot. The goods inside, however…

“It’s pumpkin juice,” the boy Ron--a gangly redhead that the young ladies had met up with upon entering the village--said jubilantly. “It’s wicked! You should try some.”

Merlin looked dubiously into the glass, not entirely certain he were interested in a ‘wicked’ drink. He had enough trouble with evil as it was.

Harry, the other young man who had joined their small party at an establishment known as the ‘Three Broomsticks,’ grinned at his expression. “Don’t be put off by the color,” he said reassuringly. “It’s actually quite good.”

Merlin still wasn’t convinced (one does not take the word of sixteen year olds, no matter how open their expression) until he saw Arthur smirking at him knowingly, as though he were absolutely _certain_ that Merlin was in no way daring enough to try it.

Merlin was very daring. He sipped delicately from the mug.

His expression changed as he found that the drink was actually quite good, and he beamed widely at Arthur, both at his demonstrated bravery and because he was very partial to sweet, somewhat spiced beverages.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the expression, but his eyes were fond, and it made something in Merlin’s chest bloom warmly.

“So, you are students you say? Do you study at the Church?” Arthur asked the children politely.

Given their attire, Merlin had assumed the same, but they looked flummoxed at the question, and Ron laughed. “The Church? No, mate. We go to Hogwarts.”

“What’s Hogwarts?” Merlin asked curiously, tongue twisting over the strange (and somewhat ludicrous) name.

All four children blinked at him simultaneously.

“You…don’t know what Hogwarts is?” Harry asked, looking completely shocked.

Arthur and Merlin shared a glance. “No…” Merlin said uncertainly.

“It’s England’s premiere school of magic,” Hermione said, voice taking on a lecturing tone. “It’s been in existence for hundreds of years. All of the United Kingdom’s wizards and witches go there, if their magical talent is strong enough.”

Merlin was impressed that Arthur didn’t flinch, though his hand tightened around the mug (Ginny had called it ‘butter beer’) he was holding.

“Magic?” he said casually (far too casually). “There’s a school for that, is there?”

“Well, yes,” Ron said slowly, looking at Arthur as though he were completely witless. “Of course there is. Where else would we learn spells?”

Arthur kept a fixed smile on his face, though it looked a little sickly. “That’s…marvelous,” he said.

He turned to Merlin. “Gaius? May I talk with you a moment by the bar?” Nodding an apology, he stood and walked quickly from the table.

Merlin followed him quietly to a corner after a reassuring look (that he did not truly believe) to the students.

“Sire,” he said, wetting his lips. “They’re only children, surely you won’t--”

Arthur cut him off, looking at first confused and then horrified. “I’m not going to _slay_ them, Merlin, you great buffoon. Clearly whatever land we find ourselves in, magic is the norm., and it is obvious that those four are not corrupt.”

Merlin just knew his eyes were bugging out unattractively. “Right then,” he said. “Umm, what shall we do?”

Arthur smiled thinly, but Merlin could see that he was more troubled than he let on. “We will go to this school of theirs in the hopes of locating someone knowledgeable in the ways of magic who may be able to help us.”

“You want to ask a sorcerer for _help_?!” It came out louder than Merlin had intended (with--admittedly this time--a bit of a yelp, but no one could blame him for being so incredibly startled).

“Yes,” Arthur hissed. “Magic brought us here, and the only way for us to determine _why_ and how we‘ll go about returning home is to find someone well versed in magic. Unless you happen to have some learning on magical tunnel creatures that I am not aware of?”

Merlin simultaneously filed the term ‘magical tunnel creatures’ away (to be brought up at some point in the future to tease Arthur about) and worried intensely that Arthur’s question was actually a veiled threat of some sort.

“No…?” he said, cursing himself for the intonation. Would he never learn to lie?

Arthur gave him a strange look before something seemed to occur to him, and his face took on that blank and princely expression that Merlin hated: the nobly, self-sacrificing one. “If you’re uncomfortable with the idea of approaching a sorcerers’ school, I could go myself,” he said.

Merlin tried not to feel horribly and completely guilty. He succeeded only partially. “No, no!” he quickly assured. “I go where you go. No question.”

At this assertion, Arthur immediately lost his impassive visage, and the look he bestowed upon Merlin was warm and bright. “As if I could get rid of you. I don‘t have that kind of luck,” he said, no sting present in his words as he turned to walk back toward the table.

“I’d die before I’d leave you.” Merlin said to his retreating back. But only in his head.

**

After Arthur’s completely unexpected decision to actively _seek out_ a sorcerer for assistance, Merlin had thought that their conversation with the students couldn’t possibly surprise him. That was until the discussion turned to the professors at their school.

"Merlin's beard! He's a creepy git!" Ron said suddenly, banging his hand on the table.

Merlin choked on his pumpkin juice.

"Ugh, I-, what?" he gasped out, using his handkerchief to wipe the orange liquid that was running rather unfortunately down his chin.

Arthur had a queer look on his face as he absently reached out and hit Merlin once--squarely and rather too hard--in the middle of his back to stop his coughing.

"What was that you said?" the prince asked Ron. The boy looked abashed.

"Well, that is, he's horribly unfair," Ron offered. "He plays favorites with his own house, and he can't take points away from ours fast enough."

"No, no," Arthur waved the explanation away. "I meant the bit about Merlin and his...beard." He looked as though he were stifling a smile, and for a moment Merlin rather absurdly wanted to insist that he could _to_ grow facial hair, but he'd been told on several occasions that he had a rather lovely jaw line, and he didn't want to do anything to muck it up, thank you very much.

The children looked at them oddly. "It's just an expression," Hermione said. "Like 'by Merlin' or 'Merlin help us.' Surely you've heard them before?"

Arthur didn't turn to look at Merlin, but he was _not_ looking so pointedly, it made Merlin squirm. "No," he said in the even, falsely serene tones that always made Merlin automatically tense and look for armed bandits in the vicinity. "No we haven't."

**

They stayed at the small bar for a little while longer, and the conversation thankfully did not turn to Merlin or any of his various body parts. Merlin was not looking forward to the conversation that was surely looming with Arthur (though it wouldn’t be a lie in any way for him to swear complete confusion on exactly _why_ his nonexistent beard were a topic of conversation), and on the trip to the school, he managed to maneuver himself into a position of relative privacy (meaning, out of earshot of Arthur) at the back of the group walking alongside Harry.

Besides being a spot that was not in Arthur’s immediate vicinity, it also afforded him an opportunity to gather information from the student who seemed to be the least likely to look at him as though he were a loon. He was rather proud of his strategy, actually. Arthur would have been proud.

"Err, so, I'm sure this is going to be a completely daft question to you,” he began. “And I promise that I am honestly not a nutter, but why exactly do you lot refer to Merlin?"

Harry's eyebrow had risen slowly during Merlin's rambling and impromptu question, but he didn't seem horribly taken aback.

"Well," he said, looking at Merlin consideringly, "I suppose it's because he was the greatest and most powerful wizard ever known, and most of the magical world holds him in awe. They even have an 'Order of Merlin' award, though I don't actually know what it's all about. You should ask Hermione if you want more information. She's the resident expert on everythin--, Are you alright?"

Merlin's ears had filled with white noise sometime around "greatest and most powerful wizard ever known," and he seemed to be having trouble drawing his breath evenly.

Obviously remembering how Arthur had dealt with the same situation earlier, Harry hit him once sharply in the square of the back.

"Thank you," Merlin wheezed out, recognizing that the boy meant well, though also sliding a bit to the side to be out of reach.

The others had paused and looked back toward them during the ruckus, but Merlin waved them on, pulling up a sheepish smile to return Arthur's incredulous look.

"Just some left over juice!" he yelled cheerily. "It's all out now. Carry on."

Arthur rolled his eyes and started walking again, utterly captivating Ron with his (rather over dramatized) tales of monster slaying and damsel saving.

"So, this Merlin fellow," Merlin asked Harry, rather proud of himself for the casual register of voice he'd adopted to ensure no one who twig to the fact he was asking about himself. "Is he still around? Living the good life somewhere?"

Harry blinked in surprise. "Well, no. He lived hundreds of years ago."

"Ahh," Merlin said sagely, heart joyful now that he'd found proof positive that it must be a completely different Merlin. Though how his mother had stumbled across the exact same name was somewhat ominous. Perhaps it was a much more popular name than he'd thought. He hadn't been everywhere. Anywhere, really (the last year notwithstanding). Maybe there were whole groups of Merlins roaming about somewhere.

"Are there more of them then?" he asked Harry brightly. "More Merlins, I mean?"

The boy looked at Merlin as though his brains were completely scrambled. "No, of course not. There's only one Merlin, and that's the one who lived ages ago in Camelot. You know. With King Arthur."

This time Merlin did faint.

He woke up (once again) to the sight of Arthur leaning over him and frowning. The prince was just drawing his hand away, and Merlin realized his cheek felt unnaturally hot. He squinted his displeasure in Arthur's direction.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked in concern from where she was crouched down above his head.

Merlin's immediate internal response ran along the lines of OhGodGreatestSorcererEverWe'reInTheFutureArthur'sGoingToKillMe, but in light of the current company, he choked it down and attempted to smile reassuringly. Given the rather dubious expressions the students were wearing, he doubt he managed, but he did try.

"I'm fine," he said, smiling doggedly. “There…was a rock, and I tripped.”

“There weren’t any rocks back there,” Harry said confusedly.

“I. Tripped,” Merlin insisted, narrowing his eyes. Harry’s expression didn’t change, so he imagined he was less than successful at intimidation.

“Well, that’s not in any way a surprise,” Arthur said breezily, as he pulled Merlin easily to his feet (it was a blow to his pride _how_ easily he did it, actually, but his head was still reeling, and he appreciated the assistance, so he didn’t say anything).

“Since everyone is now standing, let’s continue,” the prince ordered, striding down the road.

**

Hogwarts was a castle. A huge, looming castle made of dark stone that dwarfed Camelot in size and sheer audacity (there were an awfully large number of towers and turrets). It whispered to Merlin, a quiet, almost comforting voice that flitted through his ear and made him itch deep in his chest. It would have frightened him, had it not also been so very welcoming.

The wooden doors opened wide at their approach, and the strangest looking old man that Merlin had ever seen came forward, blue eyes twinkling madly, and an exceptionally long, white beard waving slightly, though no breeze was present.

“Well, hello,” the old man said genially. Merlin had the feeling that Arthur was readying himself to reach for his sword, but he relaxed slightly when the students all chorused a response of “Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore.” Clearly this was one of the learned sorcerers they were looking for.

“And who have we here?” the old man questioned, smiling now toward Arthur and Merlin. His eyes were still twinkling merrily, but they were very keen as they seemed to hone directly onto Merlin.

Arthur immediately stepped forward, gracefully sliding to put himself between the sorcerer and Merlin. “Lancelot, Headmaster,” he said, voice completely calm. “And my companion, Gaius.”

Dumbledore didn’t appear to notice Arthur’s carefully strategic positioning as he shifted his gaze to the prince and smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you, young Lancelot and Gaius. Am I correct in assuming that you have business at my school?”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur replied respectfully. Had Merlin not been so well versed in his body language, he would have thought him completely at ease, but as it was, his shoulders gave him away. “We have had some misadventure, and we had hoped that someone at your school would be able to shed light on our current circumstances. These students were kind enough to show us the way.”

“Well, well,” the Headmaster replied, looking thoroughly curious. “That is an intriguing introduction. You are certainly welcome here at Hogwarts. I will do my best to shed light on this ‘misadventure’ you refer to, and--should the situation warrant it--I and my staff will aid you as much as in our power.”

Arthur bowed gracefully. “We thank you.”

If anything, the old man now looked even more curious. “My, my, what a polite young man you are,” he said, almost seeming to be speaking to himself. “Please follow me, and we’ll see what we can do about fixing you up.”

He smiled to the children. “Thank you for taking the time to lead them here. You are a credit to your House. Fifteen points to Gryffindor.”

The wooden door swung closed on the students’ cheering as Merlin and Arthur followed the old man’s sweeping periwinkle robes into the school.

**

They had outlined what had occurred to bring them to the forest as they sat perched on a strange, deeply green settee in the Headmaster’s office. It hadn’t taken a great deal of time given that Arthur had left out the important bits such as who _exactly_ they were and their habit of running into magical mayhem.

Merlin rigidly held the small cup of tea he had been presented with and did his very best not to look back at the paintings that appeared to be both animate and peering at Merlin intensely.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice, attention given completely (and rather suspiciously) to the old man in front of them.

“And you have no idea _why_ the manifestation brought you to Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked.

Arthur frowned. “It was magical. It doesn’t _need_ a reason,” he said shortly. Dumbledore looked somewhat taken aback by this response, though he didn’t say anything about it.

“I see,” he replied instead, mind clearly processing what they had recounted.

The old man stood and clapped once. “Well! I am afraid to say that such a phenomenon does not sound familiar to me, and it will take me some time to review my magical texts. Clearly the only avenue is for you to stay here at Hogwarts until a solution is reached.”

He strode quickly out the door (he was very spry for an old man) before Arthur could voice the protest he was clearly planning.

The prince looked irritated, which--at least--was a positive change from wary.

“I suppose we should follow him,” Merlin ventured cautiously. Arthur glared at him, but then sighed in resignation.

They went.

**

The room they were shown to (which involved not one but _two_ trips on a moving stairway, an experience that Merlin found possibly even more harrowing than the hole-creature) was small and comfortable. There were two small beds propped against one wall, a fireplace set in the opposite, a set of wide windows that overlooked the forest, and another one of those horrifying moving portraits (a mounted knight this time, which Merlin would have found appropriate given his companion had the painted subject not been staring intently and with no little guardedness at Merlin). He took it down immediately and slid it facedown under one of the beds. Then he turned to Arthur.

Arthur was frowning fiercely as he paced up and down between the two beds, much like a caged animal, and Merlin had to stifle the urge to either flee from the room (Arthur looked near violence) or gather him into his arms and croon. Instead he sat on one of the beds and pulled his legs up to his chest to give Arthur as much space as possible for his rapid steps.

He managed to remain silent for a good two minutes before speaking.

"They don't _seem_ evil," he said hesitantly.

Arthur grunted, but didn't whirl on him and shout, which Merlin had half expected. "I don't like this place," he said instead. "The castle, I mean. I can feel the magic trying to get under my skin."

"I think it's itchy," Merlin agreed.

Arthur's mouth twisted slightly with amusement, and he stopped his relentless pacing. Sighing and rubbing his face with his hands (and when had he started looking so tired? Merlin was supposed to notice these things), he sat on the other bed. They faced each other in silence for a moment until Arthur spoke again.

"I don't think they mean us any harm," he said slowly. "And I doubt they were in any way responsible for bringing us here. Still, we should remain on our guard."

"Because we're surrounded by sorcerers?"

"Because we're in an unfamiliar place for an unknown purpose," Arthur corrected mildly.

Merlin hesitated a moment before deciding to voice the question he'd had since the revelation in Hogsmeade. "I must say, you're taking this all better than I thought you would"

"How so?" Arthur tiled his head to the side as he asked, a lock of gold curling across his forehead, but Merlin manfully did not allow himself to be distracted from the discussion at hand.

"I had thought...I mean, they're sorcerers. All of them."

Arthur's look was unreadable. "You thought I'd attack them?"

"No, no," Merlin was quick to reassure. "I thought there'd be more hiding and sneaking involved."

"Hiding and sneaking," Arthur's eyebrows were threatening to rise clear off his forehead, but at least he was allowing emotion (in this case, offense) to be visible on his face again.

"Or more _not_ going directly to the sorcerer's castle and asking him for help," Merlin went on doggedly. "I doubt the King would approve."

"Ahh." Arthur seemed to consider this for a moment before shaking his head. "My father isn't here, and given the circumstances, it seemed the best course of action. We have no knowledge of the area, no allies, and no way of even knowing _who_ our allies should be."

He smiled ruefully. "Besides, I have you to look after. Wandering aimlessly in a potentially dangerous forest wasn't an option."

Merlin's heart flipped in his chest, and he felt a blush staining his cheeks, though with any luck, Arthur attributed it to the setting sun which was now streaming gently through the window and washing the room in shades of pink and orange. He cleared his throat in an attempt to get his pulse to settle.

"I believe _I'm_ the one who looks after you. You'd be lost without me."

Arthur's smile was warm and wide (and a bit silly, if Merlin were being perfectly honest, though he wouldn't wish for it to be even slightly different for all the world). "Keep telling yourself that."

Luckily they were interrupted by a student knocking on their door to lead them down to supper before the moment could become even more sentimental.

**

Dinner was...awkward. They had sat with the same children they had met on the road (the school was apparently on break for the Christmas holiday, and the dining room was very sparsely populated), so the company was not unpleasant. But the minute the food had magically appeared on the platters, Arthur had pushed his plate away and declared himself not to be hungry. Merlin had held out for a time, but the smell of the roasted meat (meat!) and potatoes had eventually driven him to do more than take tentative sips of his pumpkin juice (which he had deemed safe due to its new familiarity, despite it also appearing out of thin air).

Although then a ghost had floated through the walls, hovered over their table, and flipped off its head, and he had given up on eating entirely. He and Arthur had spent the remainder of the night in their room, although Harry--noticing their abrupt departure--had brought some candies to share that he apparently kept in his room. Merlin was fairly certain they were, in fact, magical candies, but since neither of them had found anything unexpected about them (that one of the chocolate frogs seemed to move on its own was of no consequence, since Arthur didn't see it), they ate them anyway.

The next morning, Merlin arose before Arthur and circumvented the "magical food" problem by locating the kitchen courtesy of the directions that Harry had given him and returning with bread and porridge for breakfast. As Arthur didn't ask specifically if the food had been prepared by small, strange looking creatures, Merlin didn't feel obligated to enlighten him. And the porridge was both delicious and filling.

The day passed slowly as they cautiously explored the castle grounds, having vetoed exploring the castle itself given the propensity of the stairwells and doorways to change randomly. It was on their third lap of the castle that they had met the half-giant Hagrid. Despite his wide and somewhat mad grin and offer of tea and cakes, they had taken it as a sign to return to their room for the time being (well, that and the fact that Merlin's feet were aching after the hours of walking about).

Dumbledore had fetched them soon after, and they again found themselves in his strange, bright office.

"I must say, my boys, you have presented an old man with a very interesting conundrum."

"You didn't find anything?" Merlin asked, heart sinking.

"On the contrary. I found quite a bit. The question is, which bit in particular is the bit that brought you to us."

Clearly that sentence wasn't meant to make sense, so Merlin felt no prohibition against asking for clarification. "Pardon?"

The old man smiled. "What I mean is, there are a few different occurrences--both natural and spell-created--that could have been responsible for your transport here. I will need some information from you in order to narrow down the possibilities."

That sounded reasonable to Merlin, but Arthur jumped in, sounding somewhat belligerent, which Merlin attributed to being both hungry and disconcertingly out of his depth.

"And what then? Do any of these 'possibilities' allow us to return home?"

"Some do, yes," Dumbledore replied, his face rather grave for the first time since they had met him.

It wasn't the answer that Arthur wanted, and he stood abruptly to begin that infernal pacing again.

"You are focusing on the wrong thing,” the prince said, his royal (prattish) bearing coming through clearly. “What we _need_ is to leave this place to return home. _That’s_ what you should be devoting yourself to solving. The cause is unimportant.”

Dumbledore frowned slightly. “On the contrary. The cause is very important, and not simply for its academic interest. You were brought to Hogwarts for a reason, and until we learn what that reason is, it would be foolish to attempt to return you. It could have unimaginable consequences.”

Arthur sneered. “You think that that _thing_ was trying to perform a service of some kind. You’re out of your head!”

“Many have thought so,” the old man replied, clearly unoffended. “But in this instance, I am certain that I am correct.”

“You have to understand that we are uncomfortable here!“ Arthur said loudly, clearly in an attempt to override the Headmaster‘s statements. “This is a place of magic! We don’t _belong_ here!”

"Oh but you _do_ belong here, young Lancelot. Only those with an affinity for magic are even able to see the castle, you see. For you to even be standing here in my office is proof of your belonging."

"But I'm not magical!" Arthur insisted immediately, going rather white.

"It only takes the smallest drop, my boy. Indeed, it's one of magic's most awe-inspiring properties." Dumbledore said. His tone was surprisingly sympathetic, though Merlin was certain he couldn't know how deeply his statement had affected Arthur. "Magic manifests itself in countless ways, not solely through the use of spells and incantations. I know it must come as a shock, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that you are indeed magical."

Arthur's face went stony, though it remained alarmingly pale. "You must be mistaken," he said with cold formality. Then he strode out the door, stiff precision in every step.

"I'll just...get after him then," Merlin said awkwardly as he ran to follow. He didn't wait to see if the Headmaster had anything to add.

**

He tracked Arthur to a small, grassy knoll overlooking a vast lake in front of the castle. He didn't have to think too hard on it: just followed that small part of himself that was always being pulled toward Arthur. He had never considered it to be "magic," but now--with Dumbledore's words still echoing in his mind--he wondered if maybe that wasn't what it was after all.

Arthur didn't look at him as he approached. The sun was just beginning to set, and its reflection off the water dazzled Merlin's eyes. Arthur wasn't even squinting.

"I don't..." the prince trailed off. "How am I supposed to react to this? He must be wrong. I know I can't possibly be-, be magical."

Merlin thought rather fervently that he'd always been of the impression that Arthur was magical (well, once they got to know each other, that is, and he began to see the king Arthur would one day become), but he knew that wasn't what he needed to hear at the moment.

"It doesn't change anything," he said instead. Arthur's eyes flicked toward him briefly then back to the dark, still waters in front of him.

"It doesn't," Merlin insisted. "You're still you. Prince Arthur, heir to the throne of Camelot: brave knight, master swordsman." Arthur's face was starting to relax slightly, but he was still holding his shoulders tightly, so Merlin continued. "Horrid dancer, obsessive hunter, though honestly, heaven knows why you like it so very much."

Arthur turned away from the lake, face wearing that mock-offended, arrogant expression that he would adopt every time Merlin descended into rank honesty. The setting sun cast planes of gold and red across his face, and he looked every inch the destined king that the dragon said he would become.

Merlin grinned and leaned toward him slightly. "In short, a royal prat," he finished in conspiratorial tones.

Arthur's eyes were amused and a little relieved as he stared at Merlin, and it was then that Merlin realized how close they were standing. He blushed immediately and tried to step back, but Arthur gripped his arm to hold him in place. For a moment, the prince's eyes flicked to Merlin's mouth then back to his eyes, and Merlin felt his heart seize. Arthur opened his mouth to say something.

And that's when the monster rose up out of the lake and doused them both in frigid, slimy water.

**

Arthur's boots made squelching sounds as they walked through the (horribly drafty) castle hallway toward their rooms.

"This place is absurd!" he said indignantly. "A lake monster! For a pet! Sorcerers are an addled bunch."

Merlin remembered the expression on Arthur's face when the giant had run in front of him to stop him from attacking the creature with his sword. He wanted to laugh, but a sudden shiver down his spine coupled with an inhalation of something that smelled rather like lake weed ended up causing him to sneeze instead, the sound echoing embarrassingly loudly against the stone. He sniffled miserably.

Arthur shot him a look that Merlin had come to recognize (vague concern coupled with irritation) and picked up his pace.

"Don't dawdle, _Gaius_! I stink of rotting fish. It's unseemly."

Merlin attempted to hurry without slipping on the wet footprints Arthur left in his wake. "Coming, coming."

When they reached their room, it was just as cold as the hallway but far less drafty. Merlin immediately grabbed his bag with flint and tinder and stooped to light the log in the fireplace, rather wishing Arthur were blind or absent or unconscious or something so he could use his magic to light it more quickly.

When the fire was large enough, he turned around to see that Arthur had taken off his shirt.

His back was to Merlin, thank the heavens, so he didn't see the no doubt gormless, longing expression that Merlin must have been sporting. He tried to master himself, but the soft light of the fire highlighted the shifting muscles of Arthur's back as he wrung out his drenched shirt and made it...difficult.

"Don't stand there, Merlin," Arthur said without turning around, once again saying his name in a way that made it clear he was using it as a stand-in for 'idiot,' though his heart didn't sound to be in it. "You'll get sick, and I refuse to carry your skinny arse back to Camelot."

Merlin rolled his eyes and swiftly took off his soaked clothing. He wrapped himself quickly up in a blanket (telling himself firmly not to be disappointed that Arthur never turned to face him) and haphazardly flung his clothing over a chair to dry by the fire before launching himself onto the bed.

Arthur made a choked noise, and when Merlin looked up at him, he realized the prince was trying not to laugh at the no doubt awkward spectacle he made. He flushed slightly. "The floor is freezing," he said defensively. "Not all of us are blessed with such thick skin as his royal highness. I'm cut from a rather different cloth than you."

Arthur's smile faded immediately, and--before he turned abruptly toward the window--Merlin saw something akin to agony on his face.

"Arthur?" he questioned, completely alarmed. He stood back up and walked slowly toward the prince, and this time he barely felt the cold of the stone beneath his bare feet, so worried was he. "Arthur, what's the matter? Are you hurt?"

Arthur turned back toward him, his gaze so intense it froze Merlin in his tracks. He looked horribly confused, as though he couldn't even decide what emotion he should be feeling.

"I'm not hurt," he said, voice dead. "I just realized that I'm a complete and utter moron."

"Well, I could have told you that," Merlin said with a faux cheer that sounded brittle to his ears. He tried to smile, but his heart had turned to stone in his chest at Arthur's expression, and the weight of it kept him from being able to do anything to break the dark mood that had suddenly descended on the room.

The prince ignored his fairly pathetic attempt at levity. "When the old man told us that only those with an affinity for magic could see this castle, I immediately thought of my father. What he would say, what he would do if he knew that his only son was one of those he deems to be the greatest threat to the stability and peace of our land."

His voice was so anguished that Merlin took an involuntary step toward him, hands clenching impotently with the desire to do something to fix the pain he was so clearly feeling.

But then Arthur's voice dropped almost to a whisper. "But I didn't think about what it meant that you can see the castle too."

For a moment Merlin forgot to breathe, and there was a horrific roaring noise in his head. Arthur knew, Arthur knew, heaven help him.

From a great distance he heard the next, inevitable question. "Merlin, are you...?"

He didn't know what expression was on his face, but it must have been terrible, for it caused Arthur to widen his eyes and grab his arm.

Merlin was immediately transported back to their conversation by the lake before the monster had interrupted with such abominable timing, and the memory of Arthur's face in the setting sun was enough to break him out of his frozen terror.

"Don't ask, Arthur," he ground out, voice faint. He noticed absently that he was trembling all over. "Don't ask me, please."

Arthur's hand tightened on his arm, and his face moved into that same expression that had broken Merlin's heart so completely earlier.

"Why not?" he asked roughly. "Why shouldn't I know the truth? Don't I deserve that much?"

Merlin licked his lips and drew in a shaky inhalation of breath. "Because if you don't know, you don't have to choose." Arthur seemed frozen, and Merlin reached out to lay a cold hand against his cheek, roughened with the fine, golden stubble that always crept up after a few days.

"I don't ever want you to be forced to choose between friendship and duty," he told him, trying to put all that he felt onto his face. "You mean too much to me to ask that of you."

Arthur let out a hoarse, startled sound that must have been a laugh, though it made Merlin wince to hear it. His hand came to rest on Merlin's own where it still lay against his face, and he gripped it tightly. He still looked pale and pained, but his eyes were clear and determined as they bore into Merlin's own.

"Merlin, you daft creature," Arthur said. "They're the same thing."

He was still processing that unexpected response when Arthur pulled him in for a kiss.

**

The fire stayed burning for most of the night: far longer than the amount of wood should realistically have allowed.

Merlin would insist later that he didn't feed the flames (not on purpose at any rate), and perhaps the fireplace itself was magical, given its placement in a magical castle. Taking the thought a bit further, it was possible the bed was magical. Or the chair. Or perhaps even the broom that was leaning in the corner. A magical broom was completely within the realm of possibility, and wouldn't it be wonderful if all cleaning objects were magical? Then they could clean without the input of poor, overworked servants and--

Arthur tweaked his nose and then kissed it. It derailed further thought.

The flickering light revealed snippets and secrets as they explored each other: a pale shoulder here, a whispered explanation concerning a certain magical sword there. At some point during the night, Merlin (rather blushingly) repeated the words of the Dragon, but this revelation--though earth-shattering and indeed destiny-shaping--was ranked on par with the sweet discovery of skin on skin and hands resting gently on beating hearts and was therefore set aside to be processed more fully when time permitted (if indeed it ever would).

Then the sun rose, and day began anew.

**

The next morning, he found Harry sitting quietly alone on a snow covered bench outside the school. He didn’t look sad, exactly, but during one of their jaunts about the castle the day before, he and Arthur (and that term now had new significance) had learned of the young man’s history, present, and what would most probably end up as his future. Merlin could sympathize.

He sat down beside him, ready to begin a speech he’d been rehearsing in his mind since the night before (despite the, umm, interruptions) and prepared to play the role of mentor and dispense some of his hard won wisdom.

“Why on earth are you grinning like that?” Harry asked, looking askance at Merlin.

Merlin realized belatedly that he was, in fact, grinning like a loon, and he had the uncomfortable feeling it hadn’t ceased since he had awoken. He tried to adopt a serious expression, but he realized that it was a completely futile effort as soon as he saw a bit of sunlight playing on a rock and was reminded immediately and intensely of Arthur which led him to smile again. He just went with it.

“So, how are you then?” he asked the boy instead.

“Fine,” Harry responded, drawing the answer out to make it clear that he was under the impression that Merlin’s wits were lacking.

“That’s good,” Merlin answered inanely. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment before Merlin decided to simply get on with it.

“Look, I was talking to your friends, and I know about who you are. The Boy Who Lived stuff? And Voldemort?”

Harry’s eyes were wide, which confused Merlin as he was under the impression from the way Hermione had been talking that this was common knowledge. But he realized the reason for the surprise a moment later.

“You’re the only other one besides Dumbledore that I’ve ever heard use his name.”

“Really?” Merlin asked in surprise. He actually _had_ learned the name from the other students, though in hindsight they had whispered it rather dramatically. “That seems silly.”

Harry grinned, though he looked a little tired. “I think so too.”

“Well, what I wanted to say was, I understand. I mean, about having a destiny. And that, I know sometimes it seems absolutely horrible and most of the time it’s actually just completely irritating, but it works out alright in the end. If you keep working on it, I mean. When there’s something worth working toward.”

This wasn’t coming out at all the way he had wanted it to, and the young man looked understandably confused though was too polite to interrupt.

Merlin took a deep breath to try again.

“Someone once told me that there is no right or wrong. Only what is, and what isn’t,” he said slowly. “But I think that’s bollocks. There are right choices and there are wrong ones, and only _you_ can decide which ones you’ll make. Destiny has nothing to do with it.”

Harry didn’t look convinced, but at least he wasn’t seem as though he were poised to flee the area.

“I also think that it helps if you don’t try to go it alone. Having a friend, or even two friends, with you on the journey can make the burden of destiny so much lighter.” In the distance, he saw Arthur coming around the corner of the school and felt a broad smile break across his face again.

He shifted his eyes back to Harry. “I guess what I mean is, it’s going to be alright.”

The boy didn’t throw himself at Merlin’s feet in gratitude for his wisdom (not that Merlin had really expected such a response), but he did look thoughtful, and Merlin chose to think that his eyes were a bit less sad as well.

“Well, umm, thanks,” Harry said, standing and brushing the snow from his robe as he prepared to go. “I’ll see you around,” he said belatedly over his shoulder as he walked back toward the small side entrance to the school. Merlin gave a little wave and watched him go.

Arthur came up behind him and slid a comfortable arm around his waist. Merlin was quick to lean back against him, relishing the solid, warm feel of him (though the breath on the back of his neck tickled a bit…it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for the closeness).

“Have a nice chat, did you?” Arthur asked. Merlin hummed an assent and pulled the prince’s arm around him more tightly.

“I’m so glad to hear it,” Arthur said, slightly mockingly. “Since you chose to be out here in the cold having conversations with adolescents rather than working to discover exactly _why_ we are here and what we are meant to accomplish.”

Merlin was still watching Harry’s retreating form. “I think maybe we’ve done it already,” he said absently.

“Oh?” He couldn’t see Arthur’s face, but he could tell from the sudden interest in his voice and the way his fingers began to slide beneath the waistband of Merlin’s trousers exactly how he had chosen to interpret that statement.

He stepped away at once (though he didn’t go further than half a metre). “Not _that_!” he squawked, blushing deeply. “I meant talking to Harry.”

Arthur smirked at him. “You think we were brought all the way here, centuries into the future, so that you could tell a youth to keep his chin up?”

“Well, among other things,” Merlin admitted, twining their hands together. Arthur looked down to their entwined fingers, his eyes so tender Merlin felt his breath catch.

“So long as you realize that there was more to this than you giving a pep talk. Frankly, you’re not that eloquent. Or even passably articulate most of the time,” Arthur said.

He pulled Merlin in by his hand and kissed him before he could protest. With both of their eyes closed, they didn’t see the strange magical tunnel manifest beneath them, though even if they had, Merlin was fairly certain he would have kept kissing Arthur regardless.

**

Merlin awoke on the forest floor (taking in a view of autumn leaves that was becoming absurdly familiar), and for a moment he feared that he had simply dreamed the entire thing. The idea that it may not have truly happened, that _Arthur_ may not have happened, caused his insides to turn completely to ice. He wasn’t sure he could bear it, should he have to once again be so near to Arthur without being able to touch him.

A hand, golden and callused, suddenly gripped his own, and he closed his eyes in relief before turning his head to see Arthur stretched out beside him. There were several small, red leaves caught in his hair, and Merlin resisted the urge to remove them before realizing that he was actually entitled to be so familiar and gently plucked them out.

“This isn’t going to be easy, you know,” he said to Arthur as the leaf removal morphed into him carding his fingers through the golden strands.

“Nothing worthwhile is meant to be easy,” Arthur replied, moving his own hand to Merlin’s cheek. “We’ll make it work.”

And they did (as destiny had predicted).

  
 **-END-**

  
  
 **Prompt** :  
Merlin and Arthur get sent to Hogwarts when a spell goes wrong.  
  



End file.
